


All I Want for Christmas

by Kimikochan



Series: Second Chances [6]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimikochan/pseuds/Kimikochan
Summary: Logan and Veronica celebrate their first Christmas together and contemplate their future.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bondopoulos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bondopoulos/gifts), [kmd0107](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmd0107/gifts).



> Epilogue to Second Chances

“ _Fuck_.”

Logan Echolls pushed away from the writhing, half-naked woman beneath him and sat up, his starched white shirt gaping open over the unzipped fly of his meticulously pressed Navy uniform.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, expelling a long breath as he ran his hands through his short-cropped hair. “I can’t do this.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

She propped herself on her elbows, fixing wide, disbelieving eyes on him. Long, pale strands of hair spilled in waves over her shoulders, offering him tantalizing glimpses of pink-tipped breasts. Logan groaned.

“It’s this damned couch!” he exploded, gesturing dramatically at the nondescript, beige sofa they currently occupied. “I feel like I’m in high school again … I keep thinking your dad’s gonna burst in on us.”

Veronica Mars slid onto his lap and grasped the lapels of his shirt. “Trust me. He’s not,” she said, pulling him in for a kiss.

The situation might’ve been funny. Five minutes ago. Before Logan’s skillful hands had gotten her so hot and bothered she’d ripped open his shirt, sending mother-of-pearl buttons skittering across the floor. But now she was past caring about his weird hang-ups over her interior decorating choices.

After Keith’s doctors had given him a clean bill of health, she’d finally gotten her own place, a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a 1920s Spanish-style building near Dog Beach. Its proximity to the ocean made the monthly rent steeper than she would’ve liked, but it was one of the larger units, featuring a closet-like room she could use as office.

She’d been on her way to sign the lease for a cheaper studio further inland when she’d spotted the For Rent sign in front of the fading beauty with its deep casement windows, white stucco exterior and red clay roof tiles. On an impulse, she’d paid a security deposit and first month’s rent.

There were still boxes left to unpack. Stacks of books sat in the corner of her living room waiting to be shelved along with a few framed posters and photographs she’d yet to hang, but it’d been barely a week since she’d gotten the keys.

With Christmas only a few weeks away, she hadn’t wanted to spend her dwindling savings on home decor, so Logan and Wallace had helped her move furniture she’d purloined from her dad’s storage unit - a desk, a couple of side tables and the cotton twill couch from their old apartment. Her only indulgence had been a new, queen-size bed.

Between her caseload and Logan’s duties at the Navy base in San Diego, this was their first night alone together since she’d moved in. The spaghetti she’d made for dinner was left uneaten on the kitchen island, forgotten the moment Logan had caught her by the waist, pressing her against the fridge as he kissed her hungrily.

But once they’d fallen onto the couch, he’d seemed … distracted, a definite first for Logan, whose tender ministrations had always made it perfectly clear his singular focus was on her alone.

“Besides, I’m a grown woman…” Veronica murmured huskily into his ear. “... with an incredibly sexy … nearly naked … Navy lieutenant boyfriend in my very own living room.” She punctuated her words with gentle kisses along his jaw line, letting her hand drift slowly down to his straining crotch, eliciting another groan.

Suddenly, she was lifted off his lap as Logan hauled himself to his feet, effortlessly carrying her with him. “We’re moving to the bedroom. _Now_.”

“Aye, aye sir.” Stifling a smug grin, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed the ruined shirt off his tan, well-muscled shoulders. It fell to the floor next to her own discarded sweater, clattering with the weight of Logan’s naval ribbons. His mouth was hot on hers as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.

**********

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need.”_

Veronica bopped her head to the music, the bell on her green velvet elf hat jingling as she hummed along, occasionally chiming in with her own warbling voice while she stirred the mulled wine. A buzzer sounded, and she donned oven mitts before taking out a sheet of gingerbread cookies, leaving them to cool on a wire rack.

The holiday season was in full swing. Christmas was only two weeks away, but work had kept her so busy there hadn’t been any time to shop, bake or even trim the tiny tree she’d picked out with Logan the night they’d officially christened her new digs.

Now, a week later, they’d settled into something of a routine. Every night before he left the base, he’d call to see if she would be working late. If she couldn’t make it home at a decent hour, he’d either stay with a buddy in San Diego or crash at Dick’s. Most nights, though, he’d meet her at the apartment, where they could spend a few precious hours together - sharing a quiet dinner, making love and falling asleep spooning - before heading back to their respective jobs.

Tonight, she was making her dad’s lasagna, and they were going to decorate the tree while watching “Elf” and “Love Actually.”

So far, Veronica had been marginally successful in getting Logan into the holiday spirit. He quietly endured the Christmas music she always had playing in the apartment, even though she knew he hated it. He’d humored her as she carefully scoured the tree lot, not so much as raising an eyebrow when the attendant strapped her selection to the trunk of his BMW. Back at her place, he’d helped her mount the tree into the metal stand, teasing her about its Charlie Brown status.

But he’d been strangely noncommittal about spending Christmas Day with her and Keith until she’d finally coaxed him into revealing he usually preferred to work.

“Most of the other guys have families, and I always pick up a few extra shifts this time of year,” he’d told her with a shrug. “... It sucks to be alone on Christmas. I - I didn’t always handle it very well, so I learned it was best to go to work, treat it like any other day.”

She’d linked her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. “Save Christmas Eve for us?”

“I promise,” he’d answered, kissing the top of her head.

True to his word, he’d reserved the night of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day for them, but he had to work nearly every weekend on top of his regular shifts to keep his promise. He’d taken last night off, at his CO’s insistence, so he could escort her to the fancy Naval ball at the Hotel Del Coronado.

She’d spent a small fortune - her combined take from a day-long surveillance job and an overnight stakeout - on a shimmery, silver number that showed off all the right assets while hinting suggestively at others. The appreciative desire in Logan’s eyes when she’d opened their hotel room door made it worth every cent.

Walking through the hotel with Logan beside her, looking impossibly handsome in his Full Dress Whites, Veronica had felt like a princess in one of those fairy tales she’d ordinarily scoff at.

“Everyone’s dying to meet you,” Logan had warned her.

Logan’s squadmates had peppered her with questions about being a private detective and living in New York before trying to elicit information about her history with their comrade “Mouth.” As the drinks flowed, the gentle ribbing about Logan’s longtime single status had grown bolder.

“I gotta be honest, I never did like Bonnie … Carrie … whatever her name is,” a fighter pilot called “Big Bird” had said. “But this one’s a keeper. Listen to Beyonce, and put a ring on it.”

Logan had tried to change the subject, but Veronica stopped him, surprising them both with an airy shrug of her shoulders.

“Never say never,” she’d said, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile.

He’d glanced at her sharply, then quickly masked his startled expression.

Later that night, as they’d lain between the cool sheets of the hotel suite, their naked limbs entwined, Veronica had realized the thought of marriage no longer terrified her. A few months ago, the mere hint of anything more permanent than sharing a six-month lease with Piz had sent her into a tailspin of panic. Yet somehow, the idea of spending years waking up next to Logan every day filled her with peace.

Lying in his arms, listening to his gentle snoring, she’d had an epiphany.

Logan had been the real reason she’d chosen the larger apartment so close to the beach. That morning, after he’d left for the base, she’d run a quick errand at the hardware store.

_“Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you.”_

Mariah Carey’s festive falsetto broke into Veronica’s reverie just as a light knock sounded at her door. Suddenly nervous, she quickly glanced in the entryway mirror and frowned as she studied her reflection. Wishing she’d put on a little makeup or worn something nicer, she settled for releasing her hair from it sloppy bun, letting it fall in loose waves over her shoulders.

She threw open the door to find Logan leaning against the wall, a wide grin on his face. “What took so long?” he asked.

“I gave Carson the night off. It takes a while to hoof it all the way from the East Wing, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan bent down for a quick hello kiss. Instead, she grasped his neck, and they kissed in the doorway for several, long moments, not caring if the whole world was watching.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulled away, caressing her face gently before tucking a few, wispy strands of hair behind her ear. “Miss me?” he murmured.

“Always,” she whispered, returning his adoring gaze.

Logan followed her into the kitchen, where she’d set the counter table with plates and utensils. He quickly put together a salad, while she dished out the lasagna and poured two glasses of the merlot he liked. As they sat down on the stools lining the counter, he noticed a small box wrapped in gold paper and topped with a red bow.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Bonus Christmas present.”

“Christmas is two weeks away.”

“Early Christmas present,” she amended.

He raised his brows, but there was a gleam in his eyes as he tore open the package. Slowly, he lifted a tiny, silver airplane dangling from a metal ring. Confusion flickered across his features until he spotted the key.

“A key to your apartment?” he asked, a small smile hovering on his lips. “So I can pop in anytime I want?”

Veronica shrugged, striving to appear nonchalant. “Or … you could move in.”

Logan’s jaw dropped in surprise. Slowly, he smiled, and she nervously began her pitch. “It’s no beach house …”

“... or Downton Abbey.”

“... but at least this bedroom has a door.”

He grinned, but quickly grew serious again. “It’s not too soon?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “I mean, isn’t that what went wrong with you and Piz?”

She met his eyes with a steady gaze. “ _Piz and I_ were wrong,” she said, emphatically. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but … this is _you and me_. People like us, we don’t exactly follow any rules, do we?”

Logan shook his head. Wordlessly, he reached out, tenderly stroking her cheek as he touched his forehead to hers. “Best. Present. Ever,” he whispered.

Later, when they lying naked and sated in their bed, her body curled against his, he stroked her arm and mused aloud. “I never pegged you as the kind of girl who clips pages from wedding magazines or fantasizes about walking down the aisle, but the other night, you didn't seem as violently opposed to it as you used to be."

Veronica considered. Logan had always been more ambivalent about marriage than outright opposed to it, which was odd given his parents’ disastrous union. “The idea doesn’t fill me with dread…”

“... A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one.”

She smiled into her pillow, gently elbowing him in the ribs before rolling over to face him. “The idea of maybe marrying _you,_ someday in the distant future …”

“... in a galaxy far, far away …”

“… kinda makes me happy, actually.”

Logan was silent as he brushed hair away from her face, tracing her jaw line with a fingertip. “Until a little while ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Since you've been back, just being with you these last few weeks, I know … All I want is you, Veronica. You’re the only woman I could ever even think of spending the rest of my life with.”

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Veronica loved Logan more than she ever thought she could love any man. She always had.

“Me too,” she sniffed. She knew her watery admission was woefully inadequate, but it was all she could manage. She wound arms around his torso in a fierce embrace.

His arms tightened around her, and she could almost feel him smiling against her hair before he kissed the top of her head.

**********

Two weeks later, the hot Southern California sun had chased away a mild winter chill, and Christmas Eve turned out to be a balmy 78 degrees in the shade.

Logan had worked during the day, but was back at the apartment in time to help Veronica put the finishing touches on the casual dinner party they were throwing. Mac and Wallace were the first to arrive, followed by Dick and a few of Logan’s squadmates.

Mac immediately began fawning over the gift that had arrived for Veronica only hours before, festooned in a giant, red bow.

“It was a total surprise,” Veronica said, slipping an arm around his waist. “Logan picked it out.”

“Bonus Christmas gift,” he smirked, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Mac flopped onto the dove-colored sofa, running her hand along the velvety-soft armrest. "Oooh ... I want one."

Wallace nudged Logan in the arm. “You couldn’t have given it to her _before_ we hauled that heavy-ass sofa up three flights of stairs?”

Their laughter almost drowned out the sound of the doorbell announcing Keith’s arrival. The older man still walked with a cane, but his limp had lessened noticeably, and he easily hefted a bag of gifts along with a tray filled with his infamous seven-layer dip.

He kissed his daughter, then gazed over her head into the living room. “Nice couch,” he said. “Is it new?”

**Author's Note:**

> Updated thanks to happilyshanghaied whose Tumblr post, The 14 Most Ridiculous Keith Mars Dad Jokes, revealed a serious error in my story. It was the armchair that was green and white striped, not the couch. :)


End file.
